"You're my downfall. You're my muse."
- John Legend, All of Me
Chapter 17: The Turning Point
Theo still remembered nothing. He pleaded and begged his consciousness to recall anything but much to his chagrin, and Voldemort's, it was in vain. There was nothing, just black static. He was becoming exhausted at the mental obstacles the Dark Lord had him running through. Every night since he had returned battered and bruised since his unfortunate fall on their pointless mission, Voldemort had summoned Theo to his chambers to barrel into his mind like a freight train searching and scanning for any clues, anything that he might have missed, anything that happened – but it was proving to be for nothing. If Voldemort couldn't find a glimpse of a memory, what hope did Theo have, even if it was his own mind?
He still wasn't even sure what happened... He remembered getting up from the chair across from Blaise, stepping onto the floor and hearing it break, and falling... Continuously falling – and then Blaise and Draco. He remembers opening his eyes, like he blinked, and his friends were there looking down at him in concern. His head had hurt, his back was on fire, but that was it. No memory, no life-threatening injuries, just – nothing.
And the look on Voldemort's face when he told him this was enough to send a shiver down his spine. He didn't look angry or murderous, but he certainly didn't look happy. After the first night, when he peeked into his mind, Theo fought for his life to cover the discussion that he and Blaise had and his own thoughts on how he wanted nothing more than to escape Voldemort's grasps. If the Dark Lord had seen those memories, he hadn't said anything yet, which wasn't necessarily a good thing. He could be plotting. He could be waiting to leverage Pansy against him, or worse, condemn her for an eternity to work off her debt. That thought alone made Theo sick. He could and would handle any punishment that would be sicced upon him, but he was determined to leave Pansy out of it.
Pansy...
Their union was purely accidental. He had never even thought of her in a romantic way or even had a friendship with her when they were in school. They ran in similar circles, the Sacred Twenty-Eight and being Slytherin's Pureblood club, but other than that, no words were exchanged other than casual exchanges. Draco and she were always rumored to be betrothed together after school was to be over, but Theo never saw them like that. It seemed it was more a wish of their parents than themselves, but being a pureblood child, it was their duty to accept their fate without question.
Their circumstances put a quick end to that. No one, not even their parents who were loyal Death Eaters, saw the last few years of their lives going the way that it was. Planning a lavish wedding with more pomp and circumstance legally allowed took a bad burner when the world was burning around them at the hands of their dictator.
In a real twist of irony, he didn't know whether he was grateful for everything that had happened to lead him to Pansy because if it hadn't, she would have been married off, he would have been married to, Merlin knows, probably Astoria or her sister, and Pansy and he would have never crossed paths. He would have never found her shivering and near death in a service closet at their old base, clinging to torn towels for warmth as her body was caving it on itself. She had been beaten by a suitor and assaulted in ways that she still to this day had yet to tell him. Up until then, he seldom passed her. She was always at her father's side, flanked by her mother and kept her mouth shut. She was told to look pretty, not to speak, and follow orders diligently and to question nothing.
To be the perfect, poised pureblood debutant she was raised to be.
But seeing her so broken, a shell of a person, cracked a piece of his Death Eater amour off and allowed him to feel something other than self-preservation and hatred for the world. He gathered her in his arms, brought her to his room, and bathed her quietly. Letting her cry as he wiped her clean, let her sob as he brushed her hair, and allowed her a space to feel while he patted her dry. He didn't touch her body, he didn't ask her anything, he didn't do anything but take care of her and allowed her to express herself.
And that's how it continued. Every night they were both free, she would find her way to his room, and they would just talk. Talk about their anger towards their parents, talk about their roles in the war, about what classes they had mutually hated, gossiped about classmates they had, contemplated who was still alive and who was dead, who deserved what fate, and if there was an end to everything around them. And in those moments of reprieve, in those comfortable moments in each other's solace, he saw the beauty of her. The way her button nose, scrunched when she smiled or smirked, the way the corner of her eyes tightened when she laughed, the way her cheeks flushed when she talked passionately or was venting. The way her legs stretched before her, pale and smooth like silk just asking to be touched, her hair soft and asking for his hand to feel it – the way her laughter sounded like windchimes in the breeze and her smile made the morning sun look dim in comparison, he fell in love.
The kind of love that asks you to be selfless without asking, the kind of love that made him want to be a better man and give him a reason to live. It was the kind of love that he wanted to know what her hand would look like when it was old, clasped in his. A love that he could see their two lives braided around each other, always weaving, always wrapping to hold each other.
And their first kiss, that felt like candy was melting on his lips. He was scared to do it too. He didn't want her to feel obligated or that he was forcing himself on her, but she reacted in earnest. She reacted the same way that he felt, and their love evolved. As days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, their love bloomed a life in all the death that surrounded them. It was still fresh, still new-ish, but he was holding onto it as strongly as he could, and he would be damned if he would let even Voldemort himself take it away from him. The man would have to take it out of Theo's cold, dead hands.
He just needed to remember.
Remember what happened that day so he could get himself out of the target of Voldemort's questionable gaze. It would never bode well anyone to be on his radar. He was relentless, he was unforgiving, and he would push people until they either gave him what he wanted or died in the process. And now, he was even more enigmatic and deadly. His new youth, his new drive for hunger sent true fear into Theo. Everyone knew this was Voldemort's last chance at his victory and it was horrifying not knowing what the Dark Lord would do to get it. What ends he would go to, the people he would use, the people he would kill. The tools he had at his disposable…
Like Granger…
The duel between her and the others was shocking. Even Draco had yet to bring anything up. He had remained silent since Blaise had pulled her blades out of the boy's shoulders and healed him. He wasn't sure if it was Malfoy's wounded pride or sheer surprise at the girl's abilities, but he had done and said nothing about it so far. Perhaps it was neither of those things. Perhaps the reason for his silence, along with Blaise's, and Barty's, and even Theo's was the fact that Dolohov was still barely living.
When Voldemort had sent Dolohov up to duel against Granger, he was convinced then and there that Voldemort was just wanting to kill her. Everyone knew that if Dolohov was sent to duel you, you might as well have Avada yourself. And he thought he had succeeded. The kick to Hermione's head was nothing short of pure grotesque and brutality. The girl's head was shattered on impact, and it was only by the grace of God she was still living. He told Blaise he came to her aid because of Pansy's friendship with the girl, but it was more than that.
At some point, between Hermione fighting them tooth and nail, keeping her lioness pride and being there for Pansy in a way that Theo couldn't be, he started seeing her as a human and she had no one. If Theo hadn't caught her, he feared she would have perished.
Would the Dark Lord allow that? Would he have brought her back? It wasn't missed when he told Dolohov to stop, when he walked to her and there were murmured whispers exchanged between the two. Whatever he had threatened her with caused her to rally and finish off the brute of a man that was Dolohov. What could he have threatened her with? Beat her? Punish her? Wasn't it enough that she was dueling and injured? What more could be done to her?
Or maybe…
No –
That couldn't – wouldn't – isn't – possible…
Voldemort couldn't have possibly cared about her well-being… Could he?
Twisted thoughts, conjured scenarios started bursting like bubbles throughout his thoughts, each pop displaying the different, odd, unique circumstance of each moment between the Prince of Death and the Golden Girl. The private room, the lack of wounds, the lack of discipline he in seemingly didn't inflict on their most high risk prisoner.
Granted, Theo wasn't there for the private moments. Maybe he tortured her in ways that didn't leave marks but based how she looked now, she actually looked better, healthier, than when she first arrived. The bags under her eyes were starting to get smaller and Theo didn't miss that her face was looking less gaunt. There was still a haunting hollow depth to her eyes, but Theo often found that was a permanent affliction. There was something, something that was brewing around them, something that was bigger than they might be ready for… Something foreboding.
Theo's eyebrows scrunched together at the many scattered puzzle pieces in his life that were on the cusp of connecting but just missed a peg or two to fit properly.
"I can hear your brain from here", Pansy walked into his room and sat down on his bed. Theo was stationed at the abandoned chess game, his chin in his hand as he pondered.
He smiled thoughtfully. "Things are too far apart but they're too close together, Pans. Things are shifting and I'm not sure in which way."
"How do you mean?" Pansy cocked a head.
Leaning far back into his chair, his legs outstretched before him, he tapped his finger repeatedly against the boardgame. "You're going to think I'm crazy…"
Pansy scoffed, rolling her eyes and smiling," Try me."
His finger started beating faster, his eyes trained on the pattern. "Something between the two of them, Pans, is off…"
"The two of who?"
"The Dark Lord and Granger", Theo said firmly, his eyes flashing to meet Pansy. She looked… Surprised, but not out of shock or disbelief, but just – surprised. Simple surprise.
"Oh?" Pansy quirked an eyebrow. "How do you possibly figure that?"
"I don't know", he shrugged and went back to look at his tapping finger. "But I can feel it and I'm rarely wrong. I will put the pieces together. I will figure out whatever is going on around us. There is a storm brewing Pansy. I can feel it. I'm going to figure out what he's up to."
"What good will come from it even if you do?" Pansy asked innocently, sauntering her way over to Theo.
"Because – "Theo eyed her darkly, his lip raising slightly as Pansy reached him, bending down to her knees before him. "Whatever I find out, I can use as leverage to get you out of here."
"Us out of here", Pansy bit her lip as she unbuttoned the top of Theo's pants, slowly sliding them down his legs.
"I'll figure it out, Pans", Theo sighed through his teeth as her hands grasped him.
"Maybe it's all in your head", Pansy teased as she kissed around him with soft lips.
"Just you wait and see", Theo's head bent back with a moan as Pansy took him in her mouth. "You'll see."
Hermione's head still pounded, the part of her skull that got kicked in felt soft and spongy, but she had never felt more alive. Her latest win, her achievement of a duel well won was an all-new high for her. Never had she taken on such a reputable adversary and come out on top. Dolohov was incredibly well known around what was left of the wizarding world as an extremely notable Death Eater. So rarely did few face him and walk away in one piece; and if all Hermione walked away with was a soft skull spot, she was feeling pretty smug. The look on Tom's face had been absolutely delicious to her. If she had died there, she would have died happy. He looked completely baffled that his brute force of a stud had failed so spectacularly. She wasn't even sure he was still alive at this point. Tom had never heard of the spell so it was extremely doubtful he would know the reversal spell or even the proper potions to treat him.
One last Death Eater to worry about…
Toms' word rang like ringing crystal.
"Your real training in the Dark Arts begin…"
Sleep had wisped her away while he had held her against his chest, his grip on her tight as she recalled his hand weaving its way into her hair like a snake searching for its den. He had held her. There were no touches of intimacy, no lustful petting, and no heated words being burned into her ear. Instead, the entire act was a level of intimacy that she hadn't experienced from anyone, let alone Tom – Voldemort – Riddle. His hold was firm, anchoring her to him like he was afraid she would float away. His scent, his voice like husky velvet soothing her to sleep as he held her, mixing with her subconscious, making a very dangerous cocktail of curious longing that she was getting more and more tempted to try.
His magic –
It was undoubtedly his magic that was funneling into her during the duel. Hermione was a reputable duelist. There had been rumors circulating, reaching its way to the Order and unfortunately Harry's ears, about a curly haired assassin that wouldn't hesitate to kill someone in front of her. Much to her disdain he had confronted her about it. She almost Avada'd him herself right then just to keep him from droning about her 'responsibilities' as a head member of the Order.
Would have saved everyone a lot of trouble… Hermione rolled her eyes.
Confidence was key in her fighting technique and confident she was.
But when Tom's magic was flowing through her…
That was a whole new level. With every step, ever wave of her wand, every block, every ward, felt amplified. It was like taking the most intense of stimulants. Everything seemed brighter, dark magic came easier, and feeling his magic pulsate in her, was almost like feeling her horcruxes again.
It was past intimacy. It was past what anything she thought possible. She had heard of people conjoining their power to help amplify a spell, like if two people cast their magic towards the same target, but this was entirely different.
It was like Tom was in her, wrapping himself around her veins, her nerve endings – saturating every pour of her until his magic radiated in her.
And Merlin did she want to feel it again…
As Hermione looked out her window, her head against the wall she was leaning against, every part of her was buzzing to get her hands on his magic again. She wanted to feel invincible again, untouchable.
But when would the chance come again?
Hermione paced around her room anxiously…
When – when – when?
Hermione stretched into different yoga poses to ease her nerves…
When - when – when?
She practiced dueling stances and wandless magic…
When - when - when – when?
Sighing, the sun setting over the horizon, she laid on her bed defeated, a deep frown on her face. Before she couldn't get rid of him and now he wouldn't fucking appear! Feeling annoyed, she flopped over onto her side.
"You're not pouting are you?"
Tom. Tom was finally here.
Hermione immediately sat up on high alert, her eyes wide as she looked over his tall form leaning against her bedpost, smirking casually.
"Where have you been!" Hermione demanded. "I've been waiting for ages!"
"Waiting?" He looked down at her, a knowing, devious smile on his face. "What for, I wonder?"
She didn't care anymore. If this was her new reality, she was going to take advantage of it until she could manage a safe escape.
The only way to beat him is to become better than him…
Getting on her knees, she maintained eye contact with him as she crawled slowly across the bed towards him. She saw his breath hitch and his eyes widened just a fraction as his jaw ticked, his nostrils flaring slightly.
Be bold. Take charge of your new story.
Reaching him, she stood on her knees, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. He looked maddingly beautiful as he watched her with a calculated heated lust. Flipping her hair back, she tried her best to look sultry as she batted her eyelashes. It came unsettlingly easy.
"I need your magic, Tom", she admitted, her cheeks warming with the truth. "I want to feel your magic again."
With every word she said, his eyes flashed with a look of want and need as his arms went around her waist, like he couldn't even help himself.
"You felt it then?" He asked her, his eyes searching her face like the truth was visible. "You recognized my magic during your dueling?"
Hermione nodded, her fingers going traveling up his shoulders, clasping together behind his neck. She was playing with fire. Dark, all-encompassing fire that was surely going to burn her alive, but she didn't care. She didn't miss the Order. She didn't miss the berating lectures and speeches of her fall from grace. Hermione missed her horcruxes. She missed feeling alive and this was even better. Tapped magic from the source.
"Did you like feeling my magic, Hermione?" He asked in an alluring voice, the saying of her name causing her to catch butterflies. "Did you like how powerful you felt? How unstoppable you were?"
"Yes", she breathed, her body seeking out his as she pulled herself closer. "Can it happen again? Can you train me to feel that powerful?"
Those were the words he had been waiting for. His gaze heated with a possessive flare that made her swallow harshly. It felt like she had given her soul over to the Devil himself. Red flashed through his eyes as he looked longingly at her mouth before meeting her eyes again.
His grip around her waist became hard as his fingers pressed into hers, his eyes boring into her in such a way that she knew the exchange between them was a contract being verbally signed.
"Yes, my pet, you will be trained in the Dark Arts", Tom told her.
But that isn't enough…
"I don't want just the Dark Arts, Tom", Hermione bit out between clenched teeth as she pulled herself tightly against him. His whole body became tense as she took control of the transaction between them. Desperation was wreaking havoc through her as her addiction to his magic, his horcruxes, was speaking through her like an addict.
"I want your magic, Tom", she pleaded, moving against him in a way that she couldn't miss the subtle growl in his throat. "I want to become as strong as you. I want to feel that cold, unrelenting passion of power that it gave me. I want to be saturated in your dark magic."
Tom's lips crashed into hers with such ferocity that it knocked her back onto the bed, him on top of her. His hips pressing into her elicited a soft moan from her that caused him to suck air sharply through his nose and onto her face like an exhaust pipe. His tongue immediately dove into her mouth as he gripped her hair hard, his other hand holding her hips firmly in place as he continued to push his into her.
Hermione sighed with content, but it was cut short when her eyes flashed open at the feeling of his magic surging through her again. It's coolness twisting its way through her heated body as the darkness of it prickled at her skin. Every one of her sense was overwhelmed as her eyes rolled back in her head. She felt his tongue seeking a sweet spot on her neck, his hips thrusting into her over and over, his hardness against her as his magic pummeled into her veins. With every thrust, she felt his magic receding and crashing over her like waves.
"Tom – "Hermione moaned. "You said you wouldn't touch me until I made the next move."
Detaching his rosy, red lips from the now purple spot on her skin surrounded by teeth marks, his eyes looked wild as he flashed his canines at her. "You just did."
His nose dragged along her cheekbone, inhaling deeply against her skin. "I am going to take such great care to mold you. Perfect you. I knew you would see…"
He mouthed every word of truth against her, his teeth nipping, his tongue licking, every grind, making her eyelids flutter, and between her legs pulsate.
"You are so smart", his words of praise made her bite her lip hard. "You are so intelligent. You are going to be my most promising student and you'll see. You'll see what my, our, purpose will be."
His words rang with an oath that held such gravity to them it was pulling her down. As he rained words of promise to her, his lips hot against her skin, Hermione realized she had vastly underestimated what this meant to him.
Clarity swept through her like icy water being dumped on her. The lust and romanticism of it all was being washed away. This wasn't just a teacher and a student. She was being careless with herself, her talents, and what she had to offer someone like Tom – Voldemort.
All the dueling… All the watching and seeing what she was capable of…
It had all been a farce. All of the moments of secret kisses and petting, all of the promises of teaching – it was intent disguised. He just wanted to use her like everyone else did. He just wanted her because she was the most deadly person in his arsenal. It had nothing to do with her, but because of what she was capable of.
She felt like a fool to think he would just teach her magic. Of course there was another side to it. His side. Everything was his side like everything else in her life right now. If he was going to teach her magic, it would be for his own gain. It would be to fight for him. To conquer the world for him!
Hermione's face pinched at the thought.
Just like Harry, Tom was going to use her as another means to end and then cast her aside. Yes, she wanted to escape, but on her terms. The role of murder errand girl had run its course. Going around killing people for a cause that didn't care about her in the end, no one there waiting for her, no one there rooting for her and understanding her… Not even Tom. She was just an instrument of death for him.
"Stop", Hermione ordered.
Immediately Tom pulled back and looked at her. There was no heated lust. No pink cheeks. No flush of desire anywhere on him. The only evidence of their act was his lips being slightly swollen.
"What's wrong?" He turned his head slightly, eyeing her carefully. She pushed against him and thankfully he relinquished her, backing away to look at her as she stood up from the bed, smoothing down her clothes and hair with a huff.
"Have I said something?" Tom pried further.
"Yes", Hermione snapped, her voice filled with fury. "I don't want to learn your magic. I don't want anything to do with you."
"What?" Tom's harsh voice bit out the word, his teeth baring. "What the fuck changed in a second?"
"I did!" Hermione fisted her hands. "You're just using me. I am just a means of an end for you."
"You are just going to use me as a tool. An instrument of death to use for your bidding just like everyone else did. I'm going to be nothing more than just a mindless soldier and I'm not doing it Tom. I'm not. I deserve more than this. I know this is pointless to tell you. I'm your prisoner. I am your bargaining chip. I'm your blood cow to keep you young, but I don't deserve to be used for my talents. I am an extremely capable assassin because I worked for it. I furthered my talents. I went out and dueled and fought and joined gangs to better myself. Me! No one else!"
Tom watched her but she was determined not to be persuaded by his hot gaze as he followed her.
"I know I wasn't treated the best from the Order, but I will not allow myself to be used as an experiment for you. When I escape your hold, I will run far, and I don't want a lick of your magic in me to follow me."
Hermione's chest was flushed, her tongue pressing against her cheek as she silently prepared herself for Tom's fury…
But it didn't come.
They continued to measure each other at a distance, his calculated eyes clashing with her fiery stare. Both pent up with energy that could burst through the room, but both containing. Fire and ice, clashing against each other in a short space of a room making the air spark with anticipation.
A snap!
Hermione staggered forward, catching herself before she hit the grassy field. Wind was whipping around her; dark skies covered the Earth like a heavy quilt as rain slashed at her skin. The air was sharp as rain pinched at her skin. An ocean turbulent with large waves that crashed into the cliffside behind them spraying them with tears of salty water.
"Tom!" Hermione yelled out, looking around in a panic.
"Where would you go Hermoine!" His voice boomed around her, but still, she didn't see him. Looking around, 360 degrees, she was alone on a Moorish cliffside next to an angry sea. It was disorienting in the worst way possible. Panic started setting in.
She was about to yell out for him again when a dark cloud hit the Earth like an asteroid. Tom bloomed from the spot like a black rose, his coat billowing around him, the wind sending his black locks into the air. His pale face was glistening with rain making him look ethereal. The anger that was being held back had become fully unleashed like the storm around them.
"Where you would you go!" Tom yelled at her, lightening cracking behind him.
"What do you have to return back to!" Tom paced around her, a predator knowing that their prey was cornered. "Stop fucking running!"
Hermione shook her head as she continued to turn, not taking her eyes off of him. Her hair was sticking to her face, and her mouth was set in a deep frown. Every exclamation he made, the wind bit into her skin like his own teeth.
"Why do you keep holding yourself back?" Tom stopped to face her and floated several feet off the ground. Hermione had heard of his ability to fly. Harry had told her about it multiple times but never had she actually seen it. It was horrifying to behold. Unnatural – forbidden magic.
It was enticing. It was inviting.
His voice rang out like they were in an amphitheater. Moving his arms around them, the storm, the cliff, it all disappeared as he enveloped them in – space?
Starts glittered around them, purple and blue milky way patterns swirled around them, and although Hermione still felt the ground underneath her, it was beautiful to behold. Her hair, still wet, was no longer stinging her skin, the rain had ceased. Lifting her finger, she dragged it through a stream of twirling purple mist, admiring the way it curled like smoke from a blown out candle.
As she watched, bemused and at peace from the stark contrast of their surroundings before, Tom's chest came into her line of view. Looking up at him was making it all too real. He was damp, but his black eyes looked warm. The wet dewiness of his features made him look like heartbreak.
Although he didn't touch her physically, she felt his aura wrapping itself around her.
"If you think there is any escape from what our inevitability is, you're delusional Hermione", Tom warned her, his voice deep with promise. "Look at what is around you. Look at the magnitude of what you could be capable of. There is no limit to the power you could achieve."
Her heartbeat was in her ears as her fingertips sparked with energy. Could it be possible that there was truth in his words? Maybe he did want to actually teach her and help her reach her potential? As she looked around them, looking at him, he gave her space to quietly assess. Life gives out circumstances that people don't want, but you have to learn how to adapt and work your way through it. For so long she had been wanting to further herself in learning, fighting, and her magical abilities but she had stagnated. There was no room to grow at the Order and everyone she had been surrounded by had no interest in their academics or their magical potential ever, let alone during a war. And her Tom was. Offering her everything she had ever wanted. Education, the encouragement to push herself and pushing what was reality into the impossible. And if he got something out of it, maybe that would be okay…
Shuffling from foot to foot, she twisted her mouth to the side as swirls of stars continued to dance around them. Why couldn't both of them get something out of this? He already knew she was a free thinker and would push back at him if he tried to force her to do something. She didn't have to do anything she didn't want to do, but she would still be stuck in his grasps. Saying no to learning from him would just be foolish then… And maybe she could help him. Help him become less – insane.
An insane man that she was fully admitting she was feeling strong emotions towards as her eyes finally made their way to connect with his again. His alluring, pulling black abyssal eyes.
Something caught her peripheral.
To her shock, scenes started blooming around them, like little windows into her past because they were her memories.
Harry and she were outside of their tent in the woods. Her precious locket was in her hands as she tried to open it for the millionth time.
Her voice desperately said," I'm doing everything I can."
"Well, you're not doing enough!" Harry had yelled at her.
Hermione's gut wretched as the memory, her eyes welled with tears as she felt small and underappreciated.
Another memory –
She had spent all evening trying to make herself look nice and for the first time ever, she felt beautiful. She danced all night and was the envy of every girl at the Yule Ball being on Viktor Krum's arm. Ron's jealousy had ruined the evening, making her feel small and unseen. Her makeup running down her face, a bit of mascara dripped onto her dress leaving a stain. From a night of splendor to crying alone on the staircase, even Harry didn't come out to check on her.
A tear slipped as she felt isolated, alone.
And the worst of all…
Hermione's screams filled the air as Bellatrix was hissing over her, carving into her arm. Hermione's body was shaking violently, and she had thrown up on the carpet below her from the Crutios that had wracked her body. All she felt was betrayed. Betrayed by Ron. It was HIS fault that she was there. It was HIS jealousy, AGAIN, that had ruined everything! The idiot, the fool that he was! She should never have even left with them! And for what – to have her body carved into for a cause that she was beginning to resent. HISFAULTHISFAULTHISFAULTHISFAULT –
"Stop!" Hermione cried, turning her back, her face in her hands as she cried into them. "Please, Tom, stop."
The bubble memories disappeared. The galaxy they were in disintegrated, the rain stopped, the wind slowed, the thunderous clouds remained.
Her body was shaking with tears at the betrayals, the sadness, the loneliness she had felt with every memory, every display of injustice she had felt at the hands of her best friends.
"I will ask you again", Tom's voice was crisp. "What do you have to return back to?"
"You were never good enough for them", he continued," They used you. They betrayed you. They asked you to change, asked you to hold yourself back. What kind of people don't want someone they care about to excel in everything?"
Arms encircled her and without helping herself, she collapsed into them.
"I can offer you the world Hermione", his nose went into her hair, brushing against her scalp. "All you have to do is accept. It is in the stars – your magnificence and our joining. So, few in this world are given the chance for uninhibited power. Don't turn your back to your destiny."
His voice was soothing as it calmed her. His hands pressing into her back as he pulled her tightly against him. His heartbeat was thudding against his ribcage, clashing with hers until they beat as one.
"Stop denying me and let go", he pleaded, his mouth now against her ear.
"I know what you are", His voice like sultry ladened hisses. "I know who you are in your soul. I have felt it. You want power. You want all of the knowledge in the world. You want to sit on a throne of the bodies you've massacred and have the world see that a mudblood, a muggleborn girl with no magical lineage, was able to do the impossible."
His words sank into her in the most brutal way. Truths that she had hidden away so deep into her soul were being brought to the surface and shoved into her face and like everything about him, it was becoming too much. But there was no relief. There was no backing away from him. Hermione had stranded herself on the Isle of Tom Riddle and she was hopelessly, irrevocably lost.
And she didn't want to be found.
Pulling his face to look at hers, his beautiful onyx eyes looking into her very soul that he was condemning. He was so achingly handsome. It made her stomach flutter with wings even if he was the villain of every story.
"You are the damnation of my soul. Of my efforts. I loathe the way you have altered my path. You are my affliction wrapped in a beautiful, carnage package specifically wrapped in fragile desires just for me."
Tom bent his head in an unnatural way as he pinned Hermione, asking her to finally relent.
For so long she had been misunderstood. The feeling of isolation and being left out. Over the years being slowly pushed out of the Order because they couldn't see her vision and reasoning. Making her feel guilty for doing what needs to be done. She knew they were grateful for it. They had to be. She killed and maimed in a way they couldn't, but the hypocrites would never admit to that. All of them contradictory and fighting a battle the same way they always had done… The same monotonous speeches, the same insufferable rallies of hope and love conquering all. It came out of Harry's mouth like poison and Hermione was tired of choking on it.
All of her begging and pleading to whatever controlled her fate for a change, her prayers had been answered in the most sadistic of ways.
Tom was changing things. He was rearranging the game while it was still in play, and he was giving her a chance. A chance at the things she had always most wanted in the world but always felt like it was never allowed to be hers because of her blood status.
The feeling of lost and forgotten wasn't new to Hermione. She was fighting in a war she no longer believed in and to be honest, no longer cared about. Her qualm with being captured was because she wanted freedom. Hermione was tired. Tired of not being chosen to be the protagonist of her own life.
And what was wrong with choosing herself for once? What's wrong with chasing her want for power, for knowledge, for skill? She was already damned for doing what she thought always needed to be done for others when others, mainly Ron and Harry, had never bothered to put her first. And she was tired of it.
Harry's words ringing in her ears when she couldn't get her precious locket horcrux open in the tent…
"You're not doing enough…"
And it was always and would always be like that. She would never reach her full potential with them. She would never realize what she could be if she didn't choose herself right now. And that's what Tom was allowing her. To think over as his dark eyes knifed their way into hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch and her heart wring itself.
When he had seen her memory of Lavender Brown and heard of how she really felt of the girl's death, it felt nice. It felt good. Too good. To not be criticized or hounded on how much of a terrible person she was. He was seeing firsthand the way she really thought of the things around her, and he relished in it. He empowered it.
Hermione lifted her chin to look back at him finally. A new sense of purpose settled in her spine as she pulled her shoulders back. It was easy to see why people followed him. Why his words and looks of cunning and manipulation worked because he allowed people to be themselves. To be their most them and didn't condemn them for it.
Am I really to be free?
"Can I trust you?" Hermione bravely asked, repeating his question back to him. Tom's head leaned back, his look measured. Slowly, a grin appeared on his beautifully twisted face.
"Yes." Tom's eyes flashed with victory, a smile that would put the Cheshire cat to shame spread across his features. "I will not steer you wrong Hermione. You are far too precious to me to lose."
His open truthfulness made her cheeks flush as he looked at her with – not a dictator winning, not someone beating the other – but with understanding and want. He was unabashedly showing how he felt, and it was exhilarating. This new feeling of being able to show who and what you are, what you feel, without judgmental eyes watching you.
"Will you be still taking my blood?" Hermione quietly asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes, my pet", he nodded. "For me to bestow my magic upon you, I need your blood in return. We will both take and give to each other. Do you understand?"
A loaded question.
A question that was asking if she understood that they were going to be ying and yang, pulling and taking, never-ending until one of them wished it so. Wrapped together in a braid that wouldn't be unraveled until one of them relinquished their role in it.
Their noses almost touched, their lips hovering, his smell invading her senses as his hands glided over her sides.
"I understand, Tom", Hermione breathed. "I understand everything."
